intreaspection
by walkerhound
Summary: Unexplained deaths mounds of fish and missed placed ordnance Just another day in Hastings at war.  Gen exploration of deferent point's of view
1. Chapter 1

_Foyle_

He had barely got the car door shut when the inevitable happened.

"Sir, I was thinking..." and she was off. Foyle settled more comfortably into his seat and wondered when the magpie like chatter had changed from intrusive and slightly annoying to something almost stimulating and even pleasant. It was even more odd when he considered how his first impression had been in many ways accurate, if possibly somewhat incomplete. And it had not been a good impression. A small part of it had, of course, been down to finding a young woman reporting as his driver. He was willing to admit that to himself; but then that it should have been such an awfully young woman…

Thinking back to that first trip with Sam, she had made him feel like a father taking his child for an ice-cream. The constant, almost unbearably bright prattle had not been at all what he was used to. He wouldn't have objected so much he supposed if they had been in some other type of situation, although what other circumstances would have lead him to spending time with a 21 year old girl he couldn't imagine.

Foyle smiled slightly as he remembered making a note to himself about half way to the landing to check and make sure that Miss Stewart hadn't lied about her age so as to join the MTC. He had already decided that first thing when they got back to the station he would start looking for another driver, somebody with a little more experience or at least enough age that they would be able to conduct themselves with a little decorum, or even somebody who would listen to a direct order! Of course that had been before Sam had prevented the escape of the suspect with the timely application of a dustbin lid!

"… and wouldn't that explain it all, I mean even the fish?"

Foyle quirked one eyebrow up slightly as he finally got the chance to respond. "Hhmm, well wouldn't his neighbours have heard? After all the nearest one is only about 25 yards down."

"Well, what if he only did it during raids sir? Nobody would have noticed it then, would they?"

Foyle sucked lightly on his back filling to disguise his smile. "Seems like a lot of risk doesn't it? Besides, even if he was willing, there haven't been enough local raids to account for the total amounts we're talking about."

Foyle knew he shouldn't laugh, it would actually make a excellent explanation, for a magazine serial. Really there was a lot of potential in Sam. She was quick and observant and quite a bit more intelligent than most gave her credit for. If he and Milner between them could just get her to slow down and realise that just because an explanation was interesting and exciting did not necessarily mean it was the most likely, then it would be possible that some quite impressive things could come from Miss Samantha Stewart.

_Sam_

"Oh, well I hadn't thought of any of that". Sam turned her attention back more fully to the road as she thought how nice it was to hash out these tricky mysteries with Mr. Foyle. Her father was always nice about it, but his most frequent response to her more, well, long - winded speculations was to smile indulgently and then chide her for letting her imagination run away again. He certainly didn't take her seriously enough to actually think through her arguments as if they could possibly have merit on their own. And Mum was much more likely to take it as an excuse to deplore her choice of reading material. (Unfortunately Mother had very definite ideas on what was appropriate for a young lady.) Most of her own friends were just amused by it, "There goes Sam again, running off pell-mell over nothing".

_Milner_

"Hello, Sir, how was the meeting?" Milner offered by way of greeting as Foyle stepped into his office.

"Much the same as the last. At least this one had the pretence of involving actual police business. Have you found anything on Mr Taver?"

"Well, he had lived in Alaska for a number of years, but it looks like he worked on the railways, not in a gold mine and because of his arthritis he was almost unable to leave his house. He could just manage to get around the house itself and the yard. The local ladies would stop on their way to the shops for his ration book and a list of whatever he needed. He did apparently make it a habit to give gifts of fresh fish to several of them although none of them ever seem to have asked where he got them from." Milner looked up from his notes with a slight apologetic smile. "That's really all the background I could find. Doesn't seem to help us much, does it, Sir?"

"Nnoo, not really. And you found no fishing gear either in the yard or house, right?"

With a slight shake of his head Milner responded, "No, and nobody claims to have seen any unfamiliar people about his house either," Milner checked his watch quickly, "Although I think I will go ahead and ask at the quay after anybody doing private sales. I have to go down there anyway on the halfoak case"

"Might as well but so far the fish appear to be all fresh water varieties. Sam's going to drive you down there, right?" Milner nodded at this. "See if you can get her to tell you her theory … at least it would be easer than getting her not to anyway, hmm?"

Milner shared a look of amusement with his Superior before heading out the door to find Sam. As he walked he thought about Sam's bright manner and cheerful gabble and how when he was talking with her sometimes it seemed that all he had to do was close his eyes, and he would be back before the war, or even back before adulthood when the greatest tribulation was being put in charge of his younger cousins for the afternoon.

Talking with Sam, listening to her enthusiasm and optimism, it was easy to forget things like the war, the low background of fear, the constant uncertainty; the...

… the screams and curses, the smell of blood and worse... the confusion and mounting panic as they just kept coming...

… the dive bombers...

… the sudden shock and odd detached feeling where there should have been pain...

Jane saying all the right words but not once actually looking at him ...

Yes, Milner thought he would make sure to ask Sam what she thought about the case and they could spend the whole trip discussing it and exchanging theories and speculations.

_Milner/Sam_

"But everybody said he was a gold prospector, I mean, didn't they?"

"Well yes, several people did at any rate, but they all got the idea from their children." As Milner began his explanation he reflected that while Sam had a tendency to be both a little too trusting in regards to people's statements and was much too eager to view a crime through the lens of either the pulps or the movies, she at least was always more than willing to listen to criticisms of her theories. In truth, she was almost as eager to discuss the weaknesses as the strengths. It was quite a far cry from most of the actual young police officers he had dealt with.

"So it appears that Mr Tavers thought that being a gold miner in the wilds of Alaska made for a better story to tell the local children. Apparently he was quite popular. They could go there to get some tea and hear stories of his adventures, all in return for a few small chores"

"But they use explosives when they build railways too, right? That could have been where he learned about them."

Milner gave his response a few minutes of thought before starting, "Explosives are certainly used in the construction of railways and it is possible that Mr Tavers could have picked up some skill with them there, but it looks very like he was killed by a grenade explosion, which they most definitely don't use in the construction of railways." With a small grin at Sam Milner went on to say, "It's not really a bad explanation in many ways. He has access to the river right at the bottom of his property and he was getting a great many fish from somewhere."

"Well rather! What was it, almost a hundred pounds found?"

Milner gave a small nod as he raised his eyebrows, "Yes, just about. Forty five pounds preserved in salt in his cellar and another fifty on that makeshift drying rack in his shed." Milner grew a little more serious as he remembered that as much as he enjoyed these discussions with Sam, both he and Mr Foyle also looked on them as something in the nature of a kind of training opportunity. "But we're only really interested in the fish if it should turn out he acquired them illegally, say from the black market."

"Well, it would be illegal, wouldn't it? You're not really supposed to do that are you?"

"No, but to be honest, even then we would still be more interested in where he got the grenade and that is really the question in this case. How did an 84 year old man come to die by grenade in his own back garden?" Milner stopped for a minute to gather his thoughts and see if Sam had any more interjections, but she appeared to be fully involved in listening to what he had to say. That was another nice thing about Sam; while she loved to chatter, when the situation called for it she could be an excellent listener

"So we need to first find out if it was murder or some sort of accident or even suicide, but the second priority must be to find out where the explosive came from."

With that Milner waited to see what Sam's new theories would be, because as sensational as thy tended to be, there was often some surprisingly well thought out lines of reasoning in them.

_Sam_

"Well rather! What was it, almost a hundred pounds found?" Sam said with just a little of her usual breathless excitement. She tried to stay calm and present a more professional side, she really did. It was just so very puzzling and exciting and, well, in this case it was also kind of sad. Mr Tavers seemed to be such a nice old man. Sam often wondered how Mr Foyle and Paul could do it. Maybe it was just experience. Johnny Makepiece would have said it was because they were men and so their brains weren't as flighty as women's. At least he would have back before she pushed him in the mill pound. That had been very satisfying even if she had to go to bed for a week with no pudding. And it was quite satisfying to hear Paul, a _real _police sergeant saying how good one of her theories was. It would be nice if Mr. Foyle was a little more forthcoming with compliments like that though. And really she had thought of it straight away, as soon as she remembered about how the Janson boys used to catch all their fish during summers at her uncle's farm.

"Well, it would be illegal, wouldn't it? You're not really supposed to do that are you?" Sam asked. She remembered her father being very disapproving about the Jansons' type of fishing, but he could be a little bit old fashioned sometimes and her uncle and just about everybody else had known and not cared. At least until they accidentaly blew a hole in the mill dam that is.

Sam/Milner/Foyle

"I wish you had let me drop you off at home," Sam said over her shoulder as Milner held the station door open for her. "I mean there's just a quarter of an hour left before quitting time."

"Thanks Sam, but that should give me just enough time to finish up some reports," Milner responded as he let the door close behind him. "Are _you_ going to have enough time? You're supposed to meet some of your friends tonight, right?"

Sam's grin got even wider as she replied, "Yes, if I go straight home and change after dropping off Mr Foyle. It's going to be lovely. I haven't been dancing in ages."

Before Milner could reply to that they heard Mr Folye call out, "Ah there you two are, I was starting to wonder."

Milner began to ask if anything was wrong but before he could, Sam started apologising, "Sorry, Sir, but it took quite a while to find the right slip and then we had to stop for a bit to eat on the way back …"

Foyle gently broke in before the explanation could get too involved. "That's alright, Sam, although I hate to say that I'm going to need both of you to stay on for a little while yet."

"Did something come in on the Tavers case then?" Milner asked.

Foyle answered the question in a slightly distracted voice, "Yesss, I heard back from the engineers about the type of explosive."

"Were they able to say where the grenade came from Sir?" Sam piped up.

"That's the thing. It wasn't a grenade. Mr Tavers apparently was blown to bits in his back garden miles from any fighting by a mortar round," said Foyle, still with that almost distracted air about him.


	2. Chapter 2

_Milner_

"Are they sure?" was Milner's immediate response. He didn't really think there was much chance of there being a mistake though, if for no other reason that Mr. Foyle was not the type to make unfounded statements just for the shock value. It was just that a mortar round was the last thing he had expected; really Sam's explanation was more likely…well _as_ likely at least.

"No, they're sure. They haven't been able to say much else about it, though with the pieces we have. I sent some constables over to have another search specifically for any more fragments."

Sam spoke up at this point. "Sir, where are we going? It's just that we used quite a lot of petrol today, and if it's very far I really should top up the tank."

"First we need to drop off Milner at Mr. Tavers' to supervise the search. Then we'll be going out to a storage yard on Tathan Road which army has been using for temporary storage. You know where that is Sam?"

"Oh yes, sir…well I think so."

At this Milner was just able to hold in his amusement - not at Sam's less than reassuring response; he didn't like the idea of wandering about the countryside either. But Mr Foyle's expression had been … well, for such a reserved man it had been quite … _expressive_.

"Ah, yess. Well we might be quite late getting back, so while we're waiting for the fuelit might be a good time for you to call your landlady, Sam and let her know. If you need me to I can explain why you need to be out so late."

"Thanks, sir, but I've already made arrangements for tonight. I was supposed to go dancing you see." This last was said with a fair amount of disappointment.

"Sorry about that, Sam, but needs must. Milner, you should call your wife to let here know not to hold dinner."

"Yes, sir. Probably a good idea," but really was there much point in it? After al, it wasn't like Jane would be waiting up for him. Truth be told he was always half expecting to find her gone back to Wales every time he went home.

_Sam_

"But sir, why is it so important now? I mean we already thought it was a grenade and isn't a mortar shell just, well just a bigger grenade?" Sam asked. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy being in on what was looking like a very big case, and an exciting one too, what with driving through the night hard on the trail of … _something_. But if they could have waited until tomorrow to check out this supply yard when everybody thought it was a grenade, why couldn't they wait for a mortar shell? Really she had been looking forward to tonight. Linda said this place had a wonderful band too, and of course Michele had been going on about the boys' but then you couldn't expect anything else from her.

"Well, you could say that, but really it's a difference in scale."

It was obvious that Mr Foyle was still mostly thinking about the case. Sam could tell by the way he was staring out of the window and didn't seem to be paying attention to the conversation. So she tried very hard to hide her disappointment with the vague answer he had given her. That was the professional thing to do. She wasn't an over eager school girl from the country any more. She had experience now. She'd been shot at and almost blown up. She'd helped solve cases - lots of them. And if Mr Folye needed to think about the case without distractions, well then.

"Sam, think…"

(Oh thank goodness, Paul.)

"… of it like the difference between, say a pickpocket and robbery with assault. Both are crimes, and we would want to find the criminals in both cases, but the person committing the assault would be a bigger priority. Not only is his victim losing his property to a thief but he is receiving a beating as well."

OK, that was a little better. "So the fact that somebody has lost a mortar shell is more important because they can cause more damage?" it still didn't seem like there was much actual difference between the two.

"Well, that is some of it. But while a grenade wouldn't be easy for a civilian to get, there are a lot of ways for it to happen. Both the army and the home guard have stocks of them after all. Now with a mortar shell, it would be even harder to acquire one. First there are just not as many around; fewer units use them and as they are heavier weapons they're more tightly controlled. Not to mention that a grenade needs nothing else to be used, but if you don't have a mortar then there really isn't any reason you would want the ammunition for it."

It's a good thing Paul was here. It would have taken me ages to get all that from Mr Foyle. "So somebody wouldn't go to all the trouble to steal a shell if they didn't have a very good reason to need one? And the best reason would be that they had a mortar and wanted to use it, right?" Ooh this is much better than a night of dancing and fending off amorous soldiers. What could they be using it for? Maybe it's a German sabotage team that parachuted in and lost their supplies? Well except for a mortar, obviously. Or, maybe they were going to rob a bank or something, use the mortar to blast their way inside. "But why? I mean, what would you do with one in the first place?"

In a quiet voice, while still looking out of the window, Det Chief Superintendent Foyle said, "Kill a lot of people from a distance. It's about the only thing you can do with a mortar"

_Foyle/Sam_

"Do you think they were telling the truth, sir? Mrs Border seemed awfully nervous to me, and that yard manager looked like he was about to have a breakdown." Sam finished with a slight roll of her eyes.

Foyle rubbed at his eyes trying to clear the sleep as he answered, "You're right, and I imagine there are some things at that yard that somebody would like to keep hidden. But I'm not so sure that it has anything to do with our problem." Foyle sighed and pulled his hat back down square on his head before continuing, "They may well just be worried about the trouble our inquiries could bring them with the army"

With a quizzical frown Sam started in on another of her question-come-stream of thought statements. "Well, I understand how bad it would be if you were to lose a shell like that, but wouldn't it really be the quartermaster's problem? Because if the yard is only supposed to be getting things like barbed wire and mess kits and, well that sort of thing, then wouldn't the mistake be with whoever sent the ammunition there in the first place? I mean they're not actually set up to store something like that are they?"

"If anybody has sent munitions to be stored in a civilian warehouse, where the only real security is provided by a two bit lock then they definitely need to be charged with incompetence if nothing else. However Mrs Border has a very lucrative contract to provide temporary storage for excess military supplies. Any problems could cause some officer somewhere to decide that having this small civilian operation in his supply chain was probably not a good idea. The best outcome for her and her workers would be the quartermaster withdrawing the contract; the worst case could see her yard confiscated for the war effort." Foyle turned to more fully face Sam as he finished, "So even if they have nothing to do with the case, the mere fact of police attention may concern them."

"I hadn't thought of that. It's not really fair is it, sir?" Sam asked.

"Hmm, well maybe," Foyle hedged. "Also a small out of the way yard like that could very well have experience with less than legitimate freight."

Sam perked up a little at this, "So maybe they're worried about us finding something else out as well."

"It's possible," Foyle said as he leaned back and tipped his hat forward to cover his eyes.

"Sir, I'm sorry about taking the wrong turning on the way out."

"That's OK, Sam.

"

_Milner_

"Ah Milner, there you are. Hope you managed to get some sleep last night."

Milner closed the door behind him, glad that he no longer needed the cane. It would have been awkward juggling it and the file he was carrying. "A little, sir," he answered before handing over his notes on the search of Mr Tavers' yard and house.

As Mr. Foyle took them he absently indicated the chair across from his desk. "Have a seat. If you had as little sleep as I did you may need it."

Milner settled into the visitor's chair, glad of the opportunity to unobtrusively take the weight off his bad leg. The long night, not to mention the damp, had not been kind to it. Once he was seated Milner got straight into his report. "As you can see sir, we did find a few more fragments that had been either blown clear or washed down to the river bank. I've gone ahead and sent them to the engineers."

"Probably too much to hope any of those pieces would have a serial number on them. What's this about baskets?"

"I'm ... not sure, sir." Milner answered with puzzlement. "We found a series of stakes driven along the river bank. Two of them had the remains of some kind of woven baskets attached with bailing wire." He had been rather bemused when the constable first called him over to look, but as the night wore on and he had been unable to think of a satisfactory explanation, the more it had begun to seem like a significant find.

"Any idea how we missed them in the first search?"

"If the river had not fallen by about three feet in the last few days we probably wouldn't have found them this time either," Milner answered with a half smile. "The thing is, it would have been fairly easy for someone other than Mr Tavers to put them there. The spot is not really visible from the house itself and with his arthritis I doubt he would have been climbing around the river bank without a good reason."

"True, but whether he put them there or somebody else did, with or without his knowledge, there's still the question of why."

Milner nodded and said, "There is one reason that comes to mind. If somebody was looking for a place to beach contraband, submerging it in a river might not be a bad way to go about it." It had been one of the few constructive theories he had come up with the night before. Of course since the baskets had been broken open by the force of the flood waters anything they might have contained had been washed away, making it hard to prove or disprove the theory.

"In that case you would think they would use something a little more waterproof than wicker work. In any case unless we could identify where the baskets came from it wouldn't be much help in tracing who put them there."

"Assuming that was what they were for, yes sir. It's not really aevary helpful theory even if we could substantiate it," Milner said with resignation. It was just such an odd thing it seemed like it almost had to have something to do with the case. He had hoped that Mr Foyle would have some better ideas than he had. If for no other reason he wanted to find the explanation for it, but right now it was looking like the only way to get one would be to find the person that had put them there. And if that was to turn out to be Mr Tavers then of course the explanation was probably lost forever. Well he would just have to make sure to ask Sam. She could probably come up with several ideas that neither of them had thought of.

"Alright, see if you can trace the origins of the baskets, Maybe we'll get lucky. Keep checking Mr Tavers associates and canvass the neighbours again maybe we'll get lucky. We may have to drag the river once it goes down enough."

With a worried frown Milner said,"I'm not sure I like the idea of looking for live explosives with dredging hooks."

"Hmm. Neither do I. Well we can hope it won't come to that, but if it does we'll see if we can get a team from the engineers out there or somebody from bomb disposal."


	3. Chapter 3

Milner was reaching for another of the sheets of paper piled on the side of his desk when Sam poked her head around the door and gave him one of her sunny grins. 

"How is it going? I don't suppose you've found any new leads?" 

"Actually, this is just the paper work I didn't get a chance to finish last night, and the morning reports from today which I still have to finish," he answered with a slight smile and just a little resignation. Clearly Sam was planning to settle in for a nice chat, which normally he would have quite enjoyed (and in all honesty he could use a break), but he was almost a day behind with his paperwork due to the long night spent at the Tavers' place. 

"Well, I was just going to make myself a cup of tea and I thought that I would see if you wanted one too?" 

"I wish I could, but I really need to get some of this work done while I have the time." 

"Well, I could just go ahead and make two cups and bring them back in here. That way you could have a kind of working break, because really you know, you shouldn't skip meals - it's not good for you," said with all the brisk confidence of a mother to her young child. 

A little taken aback Milner responded in the only sensible manner, "Thanks Sam, that would be nice." 

It was odd how Sam often seemed to have no idea how she came across to people. You just had to remember not to take too much notice when she said something that was thoughtless or outrageous;, she never meant anything by it. It was just that she seemed congenitally unable to think before she spoke. After all, she was only trying to look out for him, and he hadn't had too much of that recently. Sam beamed at him in reward for his quick acceptance of her mother hen act. A moment later she assumed a more woebegone _expression and, with a sad little sigh, started back in full swing. 

"Sometimes I do wonder why I bother anymore. I mean, I almost don't remember what sugar tastes like! Honey is almost as hard to get, and I'm even out of treacle. It's just impossible to get anything, without doing something illegal anyway. Well, I shouldn't say that. One of the girls staying in the house behind me actually got several very nice things in a care package from a American church group from some island." She paused here for a moment, her brow wrinkled in thought. "What was the name? Something to do with farm animals, some breed of chickens I think. Seems a silly thing to name a place after. I suppose thy raise a lot of them there." 

Sam really should think about a career as a police instructor. A few conversations with her and nothing a reluctant witness or obstructive suspect could say would throw you. Now is she just chattering on like she does, or is she working herself up to asking something? 

"It was a Catholic church, I do remember that. Although we're not supposed to let on about it. She thinks it will cause trouble with her landlords if they find out." 

He broke in when she paused to take a breath, "Has she been having problems with anybody?" Judging by the furrowed brow and look of confusion received in response she hadn't been making a roundabout request on behalf of her friend for help in dealing with an incident of religious discrimination. 

"What?" Then with a rapidly clearing countenance Sam continued on, "You mean Molly? No she just doesn't want to make it hard for Mr and Mrs Pickmen. They're kind of, well, old-fashioned I suppose. You know, papist conspiracies, the seven headed snake, and what with Italy in the war now … But they're actually very nice people. No, it's just that it must be so nice to have somebody that would do that for you. It really makes you envy the people that have friends or relatives overseas." Sam had paused for a moment as if in contemplation of such bounty, when she suddenly looked back at Milner and asked with an air of somebody that has just had something occur to them, "Didn't you say you had a cousin living in Quebec, Paul?" 

Milner was careful not to show more than a trace of amusement as he answered her question, "As a matter of fact my Aunt Susan's son lives over there. But don't forget, they have to deal with rationing too, although admittedly not quite as badly as we do." Just as her face began to fall he continued with a smile, "However, as he is a baker it's a little easier for him to come by a few extra luxuries." 

Sam's face immediately brightened back up. "Well, that must certainly be nice for him, and his family of course" 

Milner leaned forward conspiratorially, "You know Sam, you've reminded me of something. Do you remember that package that came to the station for me last weekend?" 

"Oh yes?" 

He felt his smile being tugged wider at the poorly concealed eagerness in her voice. "Well, that just happened to be a parcel from my cousin with a few little gifts, and I believe I still have just a little bit of sugar left from it" 

"Well then, you should definitely take some time and have yourself a little tea." 

Milner dropped the serious _expression and smiled. He really shouldn't tease her like this, but sometimes it was just too easy to pass up. "Sam, I believe I still have enough for two, if you would like some that is?" 

This time a blush accompanied Sam's grin. 

*Interlude*

A young man, fairly tall, but otherwise nondescript was asking, "But why did you want us to meet, Reese? That's what I want to know." 

A shorter, slightly overweight, older man answered, "What? I told you the police were at the yard, asking questions, and it was that Superintendent not just one of the local idiots. What are we going to do if they come back!" The original question had been asked in a polite, even puzzled tone, but it was answered in one fast approaching hysteria. 

"First, Reese, it was that Chief Superintendent asking questions instead of the local bobby. Second, as far as I can see, if somebody comes back to ask more questions you do exactly as you did this time. You tell him that you know nothing about any military ordinance; that nothing like that is stored at your yard. In fact it's clearly spelled out in your contract that it won't be. If anybody was to continue to question you on this you should point out that you merely compare the bill of lading to the contents of the trucks. If the number of boxes and the serial numbers on those boxes match, well then you sign off and your job is done. You don't check the actual contents, and anybody that would like to query those should go and talk to the quartermaster that loaded the trucks in the first place. In short, you tell the truth. Now once again, why did you need me to tell you this?" The younger man delivered his discourse with the same polite smile and level voice as his original question. 

The older man's colour had been steadily rising throughout this vaguely condescending speech. So nobody was really surprised at his outburst when the younger waited for his answer. "The truth? Just tell the truth! Mein Gott!…" 

The rest of the exclamation was cut off as the younger man snapped forward across the table. His right hand clamped down on the back of the other's neck and his left grabbed the knot of his tie and twisted it up tight about his throat. The pleasantly affable _expression was replaced by one of hard menace as the younger man began once again to speak. "What was that, Reese? I didn't quite catch it, but then you know I don't speak that jerry shite. Not that you don't have the accent down pat, especially for a man born and raised in Kent." 

For a another minute he continued to maintain his hold as he watched the older man's face begin to go purple as he tried to desperately to draw enough air to apologize for his lapse. Just as the others were begin to think that they were going to see murder done, Reese was dropped gasping back into his chair. 

The younger man took a moment to compose himself, running his hand down the row of brass buttons on his tunic and giving the bottom a sharp tug. Looking around at the other men in the room he said, "Now to be clear, every thing is still going to plan. Every body is to continue with their work as previously." Settling his gaze on the still faintly wheezing Reese, "And the next time anybody thinks to call an emergency meeting, it will be in regards to an actual emergency, yes?" Most of the gathered men made faint sounds of assent as Reese nodded his head while trying to avoid eye contact with the still vaguely threatening young man in blue. 

Satisfied that he had made himself understood the young man turned to one of the others, "Connor, as we're already here, how will Tavers' death affect your supply arrangements?" 

A powerfully built man with a heavy beard and a patch covering his right eye answered, "It's going to be a real problem sooner rather than later. If you could find out where the old man was getting it all from?" 

"No idea on that yet. Soon as I hear anything I well let you know." Once he saw there were no more questions the young man replaced his helmet and took his leave. 

The bearded man waited till he heard the outer door close before speaking. "Told you it was a stupid idea, Reese. The fucking werewolf's crazy."

++++++author notes++++++

First to any readers I hope ya'll are enjoying this little outing.

Second this is the last completed and more importantly BETAed chapter I have so there may be some time before the next post, and in a related note I have lost contact with my beta if any body would be interested in taking a whake at it please let me know.

thanks


	4. Chapter 4

Foyle had his arms crossed, leaning back in his office chair, waiting for what he hoped would be the final call of the day. He had been on the phone with one lot or another of military officers with the occasional civilian bureaucrat for what seemed the entire day. Really it was getting quite ridiculous - fully half the people he had spoken to today had nothing to contribute to the problem in hand beyond long-winded and completely pointless opinion. With a sigh Foyle admitted to himself that that wasn't really fair: all the repetitive speeches had been clear on one point - that whoever was at fault, it was most definitely not the speaker or anybody in their organization. This rather annoying activity was thankfully interrupted when Milner appeared in his doorway with an interrogative "Sir?" and a folder with the daily manpower projections.

"So the theory is that a crate fell off the back of a lorry?" Milner didn't even try to hide his skepticism, because really they were still talking of high explosives even if they were crated for transport, and the crate one of undoubtedly hundreds of boxes loaded into the multitude of army convoys that set off every day. Somebody somewhere would have had to be very stupid.

With a tired sigh and a small 'there you have it' gesture, Foyle answered, "Well let's call it the preferred theory. As it's the one that would allow for the greatest number of blameless individuals, followed by the idea that some private thought he had pinched a crate of socks and got an unpleasant surprise."

Milner had to admit it made sense: in a case of true accident you could blame the men that loaded the lorry, the man that received it, or even possibly the drivers for not noticing at the time; in a case of black market thieves getting hold of the wrong crate, well then you would have to start taking into question over-all security as well as who had recruited a sticky-fingered private who couldn't read. Pulling himself back to the subject in hand Milner asked, "Have the military authorities decided whether they wish to take over the investigation or will they leave it to us?"

"Hmm, both actually." The left side of Foyle's mouth quirked up in response to Milner's expression. "The military police have taken responsibly for investigating the origins and circumstances behind the seeming, umm, ….misplacement of the restricted military materiel. However in light of the severe demands on their time they have requested our 'continued assistance' in regards to local information gathering as well as the securing of sites and materiel of interest to the investigation."

Milner did a quick translation: The Hastings police would continue to investigate, anything found would be passed on to the military police, who would subsequently take full responsibility – and credit - for reporting the case solved.

Foyle continued "so off course this means well have to find some way to secure said property. I hope we can find enough give in the duty schedule"

"acutely I was thinking sir that if we do indeed have access to Mr. Tavers property" a bit of a bright lining Milliner thought when he had the idea the other day he hadn't be at all sure If it would work out "then It could solve the problem with the down street substation. The best estimate on repairing are at lest two or three weeks and frankly that's only after the UXB is removed." Foyle asked wile scanning through the coming weeks man power reports "don't suppose with have an estimate on that?" "yes, unfortunately its vague to the point of non-existent" Foyle gave a little grunt of amusement and Milliner counted "so I was thinking if we were to make use of the kitchen and front room of Tavers house as a tempary substation…"

With a smile Mr. Foyle finished for him " wile locking up the rest of the house we could secure it with out unduly disrupting the patrol routs, exultant idea."


End file.
